the healers have the bloodiest hands
by bergamots
Summary: In the months following the end of the Ishvallan Civil War, both Hawkeye and Mustang come to grips with the choices they have made, and will need to make.


_I have survived, but I have not been spared. - Catherynne M. Valente_

* * *

i'm not entirely sure where this piece came from, but here you go. i cannot imagine how harrowing it must've been for Roy to have to willingly hurt someone he cared for – nor the lead up to that.

poor kid. poor riza. poor everybody.

warnings: language, suicidal tendencies, depressing discussions about life choices

* * *

Rebecca Catalina was everything Riza Hawkeye was not. Their personalities, sense of fashion, upbringing, even their _colouring_ were extreme opposites. Rebecca was warm and vivacious and untameable where Riza was muted and plain and reserved. It was a surprisingly soothing balm in the wake of the Ishvallan Civil War and the atrocities that had occurred and the individual ones that _she_ had caused. It was a balm Riza didn't think she needed in the beginning.

However, the sheer amount of suicides and attacks on military encampments from disenfranchised citizens and soldiers alike had ushered in a new policy when it came to dealing with the shell-shocked returning soldiers. A buddy system had been established, with less working hours and more individual therapy allotted to each veteran soldier – it was not the best system, but it was a hell of a lot better than what they had in place before (which was nothing, if the rumours were to be believed).

Rebecca had not been in the thick of the war – though she certainly had the talent to be considered. She wasn't particularly fond of talking about her work in general, Riza found, instead preferring to focus on the gossip at the training barracks and dragging Riza out to bar after bar in her apparently never-ending quest to find a wealthy young man to marry so that she could quit her 'boring job'.

It was exhausting, but Riza rather suspected that was the point. It wasn't enough though – nothing would be enough to rid her of the guilt that ran as deep as the ink in her skin. She could feel the stress creeping upon her now, though – it had been nearly a month since she had returned from Ishval, a month since she had last seen Mr Mustang (who, if Eastern City Command rumours were to be believed, was assembling a hand-picked team to work under his command). It had been a month since she had asked him to burn her back, but he had all but disappeared from the face of the earth.

"Well, _duh_ ," Rebecca said, rolling her eyes as she began digging into her rare steak. "Technically we're still in training. We've got like, what, five months left? He would want an experienced team, right?"

Riza shrugged, picking at her chicken pasta with disinterest. "Who's to say we're not as experienced as others? Hell, most of the senior officers weren't even at Ishval. It just seems a little strange, that's all."

"He's a guy, Riza. I wouldn't expect too much of him," Rebecca replied dismissively, pouring herself another beer from the jug between them. "Besides, I thought you were mad at him because he broke a promise with you?"

Riza sighed, putting down her cutlery and resting her head in her hands. "It's a bit more than just a promise, Rebecca," she said wearily. "Bar the girls I went through boarding school with-" – "explains a lot," Rebecca muttered under her breath – "-there wasn't really anybody else I was friends with – we weren't a very popular family where I grew up – and he sorted out my father's funeral arrangements; he didn't have to do that. He…" she stumbled a little here, "he's a good person. Not entirely heartless like you've painted him out to be."

"But now you've got me," Rebecca said simply. "I don't mean to walk all over your complicated history with the man but it's not just you and him against the world now, yeah? You can rely on me as well. I'm not going to try and replace him – wouldn't want to, alchemy is _ridiculous_ – but you need to stop being so hard on yourself. The war was shit – but you're coping, yeah? You've got me. Maybe he isn't doing so well, y'know?"

Riza nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she felt her eyes prickling. For all the reservations she had going in to this essentially military-mandated forced friendship, Rebecca was a breath of fresh air that Riza desperately needed.

"Anyway," Rebecca continued, laying her cutlery neatly down and reaching out for her hands, grasping them tightly. "It's not like you to sit around and wallow. Why don't you find him and talk to him if you're so desperate to clear the air?"

"What, at work? Yeah, that'd work out wonderfully," she replied sarcastically, carefully removing her hands from Rebecca's and speared some chicken onto her fork.

"Better than you just sitting here and moping about it," Rebecca retorted, frowning. "I won't force you, Riza. But you won't be happy until you sort this out, yeah?"

Riza nodded, chewing on her chicken thoughtfully. "Would it even make a difference?" she asked after swallowing her mouthful.

"You seem to think so, otherwise you wouldn't bring it up," Rebecca replied, shifting her chips into the puddle of gravy on her plate. "I honestly think you should just take the bull by the horns and talk to him yourself – he might be too scared to talk to you – I was, in the beginning-"

"Rebecca!" Riza laughed, scandalised. "I wasn't that bad!"

"You were awful," Rebecca shot back, grinning widely. "The rumours were growing worse by the day and by the time you had turned up I was certain I was going to die the minute I spoke to you!"

Riza buried her head in her hands, shaking with laughter. "Let me guess," she managed, after a long drink of beer. "Those rumours have only grown worse as well."

Rebecca nodded, shoving gravy-ladden chips into her mouth. "But now they fear me too," she said, swallowing. "So I'll let you off for taking ten years of my life in unneeded stress."

Riza ducked her head, hiding a smile. She might not enjoy every night she was dragged out by Rebecca – but there were always exceptions, and tonight was proving to be one of them. She mentioned this to the dark-haired woman, who only smiled beguilingly in return, fluttering her eyelashes obnoxiously.

"So you'll think about it, yeah?" she asked, finishing the rest of her beer. "Or better yet, actually agree and say 'sure Riza, whatever you say'-"

Riza held up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I will _think_ about it but I swear if you start 'accidentally' dragging me towards East Command then-"

Rebecca suddenly shushed her, holding up a finger and looked past her for a second, eyes narrowing. "I don't think that's going to be an issue, Riza. I think he just walked into the bar."

She craned her neck past the partition that separated the booths apart. "Speak of the devil," she murmured. It was unmistakably him – he always looked so _confident_ even when he simply standing. There was a pretty brunette thing on his arm, her curls flawlessly arranged and her dress screaming of wealth. They looked good together, Riza noted, a heavy feeling settling low in her gut.

Rebecca must have seen the look on her face. "Do you want to go?" she asked softly, reaching for her hand and squeezing it lightly. "My mate Amber's dog had puppies a few weeks ago – we could drop in and visit them?"

"No, it'll be okay," she replied a little hoarsely, squeezing back. "I just didn't expect him to appear quite so suddenly like th-"

"You look like you're going to hurl. C'mon – I'll cover dinner tonight."

Her shoulders slumped, and Riza nodded, suddenly exhausted. "I'll go grab our coats," she said quietly, scooting out from the booth. "I'll meet you outside?"

"Yup. See you in a sec." There was a warm hand on her shoulder, and then Rebecca disappeared towards the bar in a flurry of riotous dark curls.

She was walking past the main bar when she heard a voice call out.

"Riza?"

 _fuckfuckfuckityfuckityfuckfuc_ -

She froze, and turned slowly, a pained smile growing on her face as the dark-haired man quickly caught up to her, an unidentifiable look on his face.

"Mr Mustang," she said as way of greeting, avoiding his eyes as much as she could. "I didn't realise you were here."

Mustang raked a hand through his hair, messing it up awfully. Even like this he was still achingly familiar – the awkward apprentice who had snuck out to shoot rounds with her when her father wasn't paying attention. "Aurélie had said that this place came well-recommended for the food."

"It certainly is. Is she one of your 'sisters'?" Riza asked carefully, trying to ignore the curling in her gut. He still _smelled_ the same, for crying out loud. All warmth and the soap that reminded her of earl grey tea. Mustang shook his head, suddenly looking as uncomfortable as she felt. "Ah – no, but she went to the same school that Vanessa and Brigit went to. She's not involved in the 'family business', so to speak."

She tried her hardest not to grimace. "I see. I won't delay you any further, I'm sure your date will be wondering where you have gotten to-"

"Riza, I-"

"Riza!" Rebecca cried out, linking their arms together and eyeing up Mustang suspiciously with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you were grabbing our coats?"

Mustang smiled apologetically. "Ah, I believe that's my fault, Miss...?"

"Catalina," Rebecca supplied briskly. "Is he bothering you?" she asked bluntly, turning to Riza. She laughed a little at the indignant look on Mustang's face.

"No, he was a pupil of my father's. I hadn't seen him for a while. It was nice to see you again, Mr Mustang," she said, schooling her features to stay neutral.

Mustang looked positively bewildered as Rebecca firmly towed Riza away towards the cloakroom, only relaxing once they were outside in the cool night air.

"You okay?" Rebecca asked, shoving her hands deeps into her pockets, shivering slightly at the sudden temperature change. Riza sighed and nodded her head.

"That didn't go as badly as it could have," she mumbled, wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck.

"He was on a date, yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied shortly. "A legitimate one too, not with one of his 'sisters'. Her name was _Aurélie._ " The name curled around her tongue sourly. "Pretty young thing like her is only interested in him because he's a war hero."

Rebecca shuffled uneasily, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "He didn't look awfully pleased with how coolly you brushed him off."

Riza rolled her eyes. "He's used to attention. I doubt it was because of me personally."

Rebecca pursed her lips, looking like she was going to say something before shrugging, dropping the matter. "If you say so. Puppies?"

Riza nodded, shivering against the cold. "Puppies."

* * *

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Rebecca and Riza continued their training at the academy – by this point it was just sitting in a room and listening to an old man drone on and on about military regulations and where to stick your complaints if you had any. It wasn't a particularly interesting or intensive part of her day, but nonetheless she'd come back to the dorm she shared with Rebecca and would immediately fall asleep on her bed, waking up hours later when the sun was setting and a sick feeling deep in her gut.

All thoughts of contacting Mustang were ignored, even as she could feel the ink on her back prickle uncomfortably. Rebecca had dropped the matter, for now, but Riza knew it was only a matter of time before her stubbornness would prevail. To be honest, she was surprised that the topic hadn't been brought up before now – but Riza wasn't going to complain.

It was easier than the confrontation she knew was coming.

Every other Thursday she had a mandatory therapy session, which was more trouble than it was worth, in Riza's opinion. Doctor Petyr Gower was an awkward man who clearly was out of his depth – by Riza's reckoning he was only a couple of years older than her, and obviously had little practical experience. He apparently had no idea how to talk to another human – or how to approach a conversation with someone suffering nightmares and near-crippling anxiety. He would be better suited as an interrogator rather than as a doctor she thought, sitting down opposite him in the small room that served as his practice – every time she spoke with him she felt more stressed rather than comforted (something Riza was fairly certain _wasn't_ meant to happen).

"You seem happier than the last time we spoke," Dr Gower commented, adjusting his tie as he sat down, notebook and pen in hand.

"Last week wasn't too bad. I went out for dinner with a friend." She shifted in the uncomfortable chair, twisting her fingers. This room always smelled like cigarettes and a fake floral scent that was more cloying than relaxing. She supposed it was like the smell of newly-stained wood – if you spent enough time with it, you didn't notice the pungency anymore.

It just gave her a headache and made her feel ill.

"Are you finding it easier to deal with larger crowds of people in public now?" Dr Gower asked, scratching his neck.

Riza thought for a moment before answering. "I suppose so. East City isn't really a place well-known for crowds, though."

"I suppose not," Dr Gower replied, writing down something in his notebook. "But for the sake of a hypothetical scenario, how would you fare if I put you on a train to Central right now?"

"I wouldn't get on the train," she answered firmly.

There was an awkward silence as Dr Gower wrote down some more in his notebook. The chair she was sitting in had somehow become even more uncomfortable.

"I see you're wearing your mother's ring again, Miss Hawkeye."

Riza paused in her fiddling of the diamond halo, looking up at Dr Gower.

"It's a nice ring," she replied absently. "It was one of the few things I could find of hers after she died. My family wasn't particularly wealthy."

Dr Gower made some notes. "You don't usually wear it on your left hand, however. Should I be congratulating you?"

Riza sighed. "There have been a couple of times where men don't quite understand the meaning of 'I'm not interested, thank you' – a ring apparently does a far better job than I can."

"Have you found yourself in that situation more often than you would like?"

Riza scoffed a little. "No lady likes to be harassed, Dr Gower. And the illusion is nice – people treat you differently if they think your attention is always focused on somebody else. They're more likely to be themselves."

"Do you think people are lying to you, Miss Hawkeye?"

"People always lie. They lie about how they feel, they lie about you, they lie _to you_ and you both know but accept it anyway. The idea of honesty is a carefully constructed lie. Even here-" she gestured to the doctor, to the room they were in "-you say that what we talk about is utterly confidential, but we both know you have to report to my higher-ups to make sure I won't go off my head. Can't have any more casualties, can we?"

"You must know that is simply not true, Miss-"

"It is, Dr Gower. Please don't piss on me and tell me it's raining."

The doctor made some more notes. "Do you always distrust people so?" he asked quietly. "It must be exhausting to be on edge all the time."

Riza shrugged noncommittally. "It's not that hard. Lowered expectations are easier to achieve, harder to fail." She stopped here, fiddling with the antique diamond ring once more. "You weren't there Dr Gower, you don't understand – you will _never_ understand. We were fed lies at every turn. I killed people and I felt _good about it_. If I start being honest with myself, I won't be here much longer, I can assure you that much."

There was a strained silence and Dr Gower made some furiously scribbled notes. "Has the medication I prescribed for you not working?"

"It doesn't feel like anything. Is it meant to work that way?"

The man sighed. "It will not be a replacement for your emotions. It's not designed to be-"

"Some days I can't feel anything, doctor," she replied bitterly. "And I don't know if I want to anymore."

There was a pause. "Why?"

"If I…" she sighed, twisting her fingers together almost painfully. "I don't want to feel what I am feeling, doctor. I get dizzy all the time, and I want to sleep but it's never restful. I have nightmares where I am literally drowning in all the blood I spilled. Would you want to feel that?"

She glanced up at Dr Gower, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Of course not, Miss Hakweye. But you feel the guilt, don't you?" he asked simply. "You want to feel it because you think you are guilty but you don't want to feel it because it hurts to do so. This is normal for returning soldiers, Miss Hakweye-"

"Of course I don't want to feel the guilt!" she cried out, flinging out her arms. "Who would ever _want_ to? But I should-"

"You need to calm down Miss-"

"SHUT UP!" she screamed, standing up, her back suddenly feeling like it was on fire. "YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW IT FEELS TO SHOOT AND KILL INNOCENT PEOPLE! I HAVE KILLED CHILDREN AND _FELT_ _GOOD_ ABOUT IT! _GOOD_! I HAVE KILLED HUNDREDS UPON THOUSANDS OF ISHVALLANS BECAUSE I THOUGHT I WAS PROTECTING-"

The doctor was suddenly next to her and she felt the sharp prick of a needle in her arm and she tried to jerk back but it was too late – the man was surprisingly strong for his stature and she could feel her throat closing up, the over-white room was swimming before her eyes and there were so many voices and hands on her and she was drowning _she was drowning shewasdrowninginbloodandmarrowand_ –

* * *

She woke up in a dimly-lit room, a thin blanket draped over her, and the overwhelming smell of antiseptic.

"Hey, you're up" a voice said to her right.

"Roy?" she asked groggily, turning slightly in the bed towards the source of the voice.

"Guilty as charged," he replied a little sheepishly, sitting up a bit straighter in the chair next to the bed she was in. "I was starting to think you wouldn't wake up at all."

Riza frowned, trying to see his face in the dark room. "What do you mean? Where- where am I?"

There was a beat before he answered her, not meeting her eyes. "You're at the Parkview General – nearby Auntie Lee's Bakery, the one with the good custard squares. What do you remember?"

She struggled with words for a moment. "I was with Doctor Gower and- I fainted?"

"He thinks you had a panic attack," Mustang replied carefully, adjusting his cufflinks. "They had to give you a sedative – so he said. You don't generally faint when you're having a panic attack but –" He stopped himself, sighing and shook his head. "That doesn't matter. You've been out for a while."

"How long?"

"Eleven hours, I think. It's three-fifty in the morning."

" _What?_ " she cried out, jerking up into a sitting position, pain shooting through her torso as she suddenly twisted her body. "Why on ea-"

He placed a hand on her arm to stall her movements, shushing her while glancing to the door. "Hey hey, easy, Riza, easy. Don't want the night nurse coming in here. I might get kicked out."

She looked at him properly then, eyes having adjusted to the low light in the room. "Why are you here, Mr Mustang?" she asked, accepting a pillow from him and hugging it slightly. He frowned a little at the use of his last name, hands fiddling with his gloves.

"To make a long story short, I was in a meeting with your grandfather when he got the news. It didn't take me long to put two and two together." Mustang ducked his head a little, rubbing at his eyes.

Riza narrowed her eyes in confusion. "That still doesn't explain why you're here now."

A nervous smile came across his face. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours about me getting my own team out here at East-" she nodded slowly, "and it was during these talks that your grandfather heard from the hospital. We were actually discussing you, at the time."

"Why?"

He looked at her, a little bemused. "Those drugs must've really knocked you," he said, fondness seeping into his tone. "For my team. I'll need a personal adjutant."

"Why me, though?" she asked, shaking her head a little. It felt like there was cotton wool in her head, muffling sound and making it hard to concentrate.

"Why wouldn't I have you? You know me best out of anybody I know – you'd keep me honest amongst all the wolves. Besides," he continued, shifting in the uncomfortable-looking hospital-issued chair. "It's all theoretical at the moment – I won't presume to know what you want to do once you've finished your training. But it's your decision, in the end. You don't have to decide for a while yet."

She was silent for a moment, counting her heartbeats and willing herself not to cry. This was not the confrontation she wanted – all hushed whispers and fond looks, like nothing had happened since he was shipped off to war. She could almost remember the warmth of his hands and the feeling of those hands – covered in blood and still dripping, tracing over the words of her back and the ink and blood mixing and seeping and-

She bit her tongue and took a deep breath, wincing a little at the sharp scent of lemon in the antiseptic. _First breath to remember to breathe; second breath to remember who you are; third breath to remember where you are._ "So you know about Grandfather," she began quietly.

"Yeah. I feel like an idiot in retrospect though – I think I gave him way too much ammunition when it comes to us. He- the General asked me if I would stay behind to keep an eye on you." He broke off, leaning forwards towards her. "I remember you saying that you were estranged from your relatives. Did he find you?"

Riza nodded. "He found out at the end of the war, when he was signing the promotions that were being given out to everyone. Apparently my mother eloped with my father and they lost contact. Grandfather didn't approve of him. He didn't even know I existed until my promotion came through."

"Hell of a reveal," he murmured. "He seems very fond of you, but he thought it would be better if I stayed here overnight. The day nurses said it was likely you could wake up a bit disorientated – they thought a familiar face would be appreciated."

Riza nodded slowly, fingers gripping the edges of the pillow she was holding tightly. "Thank you," she said quietly, willing herself to calm her breathing. The next sentence was vomited out before she could stop it. "Does Aurélie mind that you're here?"

He at least had the good grace to look properly guilty, bowing his head and laughing awkwardly.

"That was an idea of Maes'," he began, rubbing the nape of his neck, avoiding her eyes. "He thought a civilian would do me some good. Get my mind off – y'know-"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know, Mr Mustang. You'll need to enlighten me. I was under the impression I had done something wrong – I don't hear from you for a month and then you turn up here like nothing is wrong?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I've been an arse about that – the whole- everything. I just…I'm sorry." He glanced up at her, properly meeting her gaze for the first time since she had woken. "Truly. I shouldn't have called out to you that night. You didn't look happy to see me. I should have been in contact sooner but I got busy and-" he cut himself off and shook his head. "Excuses won't make any difference. I fucked up, and I'm sorry."

 _Well._ "I think I was more surprised than anything," she responded quickly. "But I guess I wasn't very happy to see you as well. And it's not- I shouldn't have expected you to act better than me. I haven't been well – and neither have you." The bags under his eyes were easy to see now, his shoulders betraying exhaustion and she could tell even from here he was trying his hardest to put on a brave front. "We're still both idiots."

He smiled thinly. "You're too easy on me," he replied quietly. He reached for her hand and for a split second she considered pulling away – but the moment passed and his hand was warm and familiar in hers and Riza couldn't help but relax a little.

"What else did Grandfather say?"

"Not much else," he replied, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. It was so familiar a gesture she could almost forget where they were, surrounded by antiseptic and the hushed sounds of a hospital early in the morning. "He was definitely worried about you, but there were a lot of people around. I guess he just wanted to treat you like any other soldier in his care."

Riza nodded. "I don't think we'll ever be comfortable with one another…but that's okay. I'm not sure I could deal with somebody claiming to be family and suddenly inserting themselves into my life."

"Have you talked?"

"A little. He wanted to know about mum." She shifted on the bed, crossing her legs and shrugging off the thin blanket. "She ran away when she was nineteen with father, but I was too young to really remember her – he didn't realise she was dead. I think he was expecting it – but he still cried. It was quite…strange."

"That's putting it lightly," Roy commented.

Riza laughed quietly, letting go of his hold to stretch her arms over her head. "His intentions are good. I just wish he had tried to find us earlier."

Roy made a noise of agreement, leaning back in the chair. "Tell me something," he began, resting his head on his hand. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"What?"

Roy gestured to the room. "Do you want to get out of the hospital? That doctor of yours was talking about all sorts of tests he wanted done on you – none of them sounded very nice. We could make a run for it if you want."

"Tell me you're joking," she replied, sitting up a little straighter.

"I'm deadly serious. Aunt Chris has got a saloon near here that she's managing at the moment. You could have a shower, some nice food – a bed that doesn't look like it came out of a horror serial."

"How would we even get out?" she asked, frowning and crossing her arms over her chest. "There'll still be staff here."

"Way I came in – the back entrance. I think it's just meant for employees but it'll be the skeleton crew here anyway. We've got-" he checked his pocket watch, "-about ten minutes before they come to check on you again."

"What's the time now?" she asked.

"Nearly four-thirty," he replied, standing up. "You in?"

She looked at him carefully, with his hand outstretched and a warm smile on his face. "You won't take 'no' for an answer, will you?" she asked, trying her best not to smile.

His smile grew. "You know me too well. I'll make you pancakes."

She finally nodded, and took his hand, grasping it tightly. "Roy, if we get caught by a nurse it's all on you," she warned, trying to ignore the dizziness as she stood up suddenly, blood rushing back into her legs. He kissed her knuckles softly, before grabbing his coat from the chair and placing it on her shoulders.

"We've never been caught before, and I don't plan on starting now," he murmured, linking his hand with hers. "Let's go."

* * *

Their escape, in the end wasn't that interesting – it was simply a matter of getting to the emergency stairwell and then slipping out a side door into the cold, frosty morning. The sky was becoming lighter and Riza could hear the birds beginning to waken, their faint songs echoing in the streets. It had been a quick drive to the saloon and she had wound down the window and leant her head on her arm, enjoying the cool air in her face. Little pleasures like these were becoming increasingly rare in her life, she realised with a sinking feeling in her gut. Maybe Rebecca had been right about some stuff.

The girls who were on the night shift at the saloon greeted them with warm smiles and drinks – Riza sat at the bar with Claudia and a cup of strong tea while Roy tried to rustle up some pancakes. Claudia was a sweet young thing – long golden blonde hair and a smile that was well-practiced in hiding secrets and intentions. She had fussed over Riza the most when they had arrived, all but dragging her into a shower and making sure she was wearing at least three layers of wool before letting her back into the saloon proper.

"He has been so worried about you," Claudia said to her softly as she finished shaping her nails – apparently they had looked 'awful' and she wouldn't stand for a potential hangnail to appear. "Like a duckling without his mother – it drove the Madame quite batty."

"Really?" Riza asked, withdrawing her hands from Claudia's and wrapped them around the mug of steaming tea.

Claudia nodded. "We knew the war was bad for everyone involved but-" her voice became all but a whisper, "- I'd never seen him quite this bad before. I won't pretend to understand what you've had to endure but – I hope for both your sakes that you won't go ignoring each other anymore. I don't think the Madame could take it."

Riza laughed a little shakily. "We needed the space but…" she struggled for words here – she herself didn't quite understand what had changed between them but deep down she knew it had been necessary. "It doesn't matter anymore," she said finally, taking a sip of tea.

Claudia pursed her lips. "I guess not. You're here now, no?"

Roy appeared then, with a plate full of pancakes and bacon. "You hungry Claudia?" he asked, ducking under the bar for a moment before surfacing with cutlery and plates. Claudia smiled indulgently. "I couldn't say no to any of your cooking, Roy," she replied, winking at Riza. They ate in companionable silence – the other girls that were working had dropped in to nick a fewpancakes of their own before disappearing once more – before Claudia wandered off to see if the Madame wanted any before they were gone. It was just past five in the morning, and the rising sun's light was filtering through the front windows of the saloon, drenching the bar in a hundred shades of yellow and gold.

"You okay?" Roy asked quietly, cleaning up the used cutlery and placing them in the washing bucket. "You're not regretting it already, are you? Leaving hospital?"

Riza shook her head, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'm just…thinking."

"May I ask what?"

She passed him the empty mug of tea, her eyes meeting his. "Was she ever an option?"

He stilled, before smiling wanly and leant his arms on the bar. "Of course not," he murmured, carefully tracing her fingers with his own. "I was hurting. We all were. You had asked me to do the impossible and-" he raked a hand through his hair, mussing it up terribly. "It was nice to pretend that I wasn't me, even for a few hours. Be without the power that you gave me – that you asked of me. But I chose this path," he continued, grasping her hands firmly with his own. "For better or worse I chose it and I will not disrespect you any longer. As hard as that will be for more."

Roy exhaled heavily, moving from behind to bar to meet her in front of it. "I have been researching what I will need to get rid of," he began, squeezing her hands tightly. "Thankfully it will not be a lot. But it will be – the burns – they will have to be deep. There is every chance this could kill you."

Riza smiled warmly, moving one of her hands out of his to cup his face gently. "You won't," she said confidently. "I trust you."

He sobbed a little at this, shoulders trembling before he crumpled in her arms, his whole body wracked with sobs and shaking like a leaf. It was a while before she felt she could move under his weight, guiding him to the piano stool at the side of the bar.

Riza opened the lid to the piano carefully, fingers caressing the ivory keys and inhaled deeply. Roy's arm had snaked around her waist and his face was buried into her neck, whispering words over her skin.

It had been years since she had last played the piano – the one in the house had gone out of tune a long time ago and getting it re-tuned had never been a priority. This one was beautiful. It gleamed and glinted in the early morning sun.

She hesitated, before beginning an old piece she remembered from long ago.

* * *

the piece Riza plays is Henryk Pachulski's Opus 8, No. 1, _Prélude in C minor._


End file.
